


Their Chorus Was a Battle Cry

by dragonifyoudare



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Issues, Sisters, background Krem/Josephine, protagonist is not good at maging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare
Summary: At first, they thought the woman found in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes was Evelyn Trevelyan, a woman of faith, good character and high connections. They were wrong. Signy, a common-born mage, is nothing like what the Inquisition would hope for in the one woman capable of closing the rifts. She’s not even aproficientmage. What she is, though, is determined, and willing to learn. She may just become exactly the leader the Inquisition needs.And then there’s Brigid Trevelyan, Evelyn’s younger sister. As she comes to know the woman she resents for living when her sister died, she’ll also come to question everything about her faith and her family.A novelization of Dragon Age Inquisition with a focus on family, love, and finding both in the strangest places.





	1. The Mage and the Council

 

Signy was in a bed when she woke, with a blanket and a very nice pillow.  She decided fuzzily that she had no intention of waking up properly until absolutely forced to do so. It was much nicer than a cell under the Chantry.

“I want to see her!” someone yelled, not far away.

Consciousness began seeping back into Signy’s mind in earnest.

There was a thump, and a gust of cold air invaded her comfort, chilling her to the bone. She pulled the blanket up over her head.

“My lady, you must calm down.” That was a different voice, masculine. Two sets of footfalls were coming toward her.

Someone yanked the blanket back and the freezing cold jolted Signy fully into wakefulness.

She opened her eyes to find a familiar face staring down at her. Familiar, because it was similar to her own, especially around the eyes – pale gray and sort of almond-shaped – and the shape of the nose. Signy stared back. The woman was maybe three or four years younger than her. Her curly black hair and bumper crop of freckles were the only features that looked markedly dissimilar from Signy’s own. Signy hadn’t seen a face so like her own since the dimly remembered day she’d last seen her mother. There was something unreal about the moment, and Signy had to remind herself that she was awake.

“You,” the woman said, stricken, “are not Evelyn.”

“I thought we’d established that,” Signy replied groggily.

The woman turned without another word and stormed out of the cabin -- at least Signy thought it was one of Haven’s cabins -- without another word.

Signy stared after her, as did the man who had spoken before. It was the officer she had encountered during the charge toward the Temple of Sacred Ashes with Seeker Pentaghast. He didn’t look much less imposing out of his armor. There was something in his stance that was still poised to fight.

“That was her sister, wasn’t it? Lady Trevelyan’s?” Signy said. She started to sit up, realized she was wearing only a nightdress, and sank back down.

“I’m afraid so,” the officer said.

“I still can’t believe you mistook me for a noblewoman,” Signy muttered. But after seeing the sister, she could imagine there had been at least some visual similarity between herself and Evelyn Trevelyan.

She tried not to think about that.

“Are we still in danger?”

“Not so much as we were. The Breach has stopped expanding, as, I am told, has the mark on your hand...” He trailed off, looking at the hand in question

Signy glanced at it herself. At the moment it looked completely normal, but she could feel… something, catching at the fabric of the Veil.

“But?” she prompted, trying to focus on more immediate things.

“But... it is not fully closed, and the the smaller rifts have not showed any change,” the officer said, pulling his gaze away from her hand to meet her eyes, expression grim.

It hadn’t worked. She had been so sure it would, at the end. It had felt so _right..._

“The elven apostate – ”

“His name is Solas,” Signy said numbly. She’d thought it was over. Closing that final rift, when everything had clicked back into place, had felt so _right._ She’d been _so sure_ it was over.

“Solas does not believe they will do so on their own until the Breach is fully sealed.”

Signy’s head, already aching, started to pound.

“I did everything in my power, ser. I don’t know what else _can_ be done,” she said. What she had done at the end, closing that rift, had been dangerous. She had thought it was killing her, and that moment somehow felt more real now than it had when demons were howling for her blood. She shied away from the thought, searching for something else to bring up.

“Am I still the only one we know of who can close them?” Signy said, forcing calm into her voice. She didn’t want to be important, and that would make her very important. Important people got noticed; important _mages_ , in her experience, got controlled.

“You are.”

Signy’s stomach clenched, but at least she didn’t flinch. “So what happens now?” The mages would be blamed for this. The echoes of Kirkwall were far too loud for them not to be, even setting aside the scale of the destruction. What would that mean, especially without the Divine to push for peace? There would be reprisals, and those reprisals would be fended off however was necessary. And when mages used their powers to defend themselves, the results, physical and political, would be devastating.

The officer grimaced. “Perhaps it would be best if we discussed everything at once. Are you able to walk to the chantry?”

Signy started to protest that she wasn’t an invalid, then remembered that she’d spent more of the last week unconscious than she had awake.

“A walking stick would be appreciated,” she said. ”Just in case.”

“I’ll see to that,” said the officer, then left to fetch one.

Signy stood, muscles all over her body cramping, and looked around for clothes. She found a dress laid out on a chair. It was simple wool, but it was well made and looked like it was someone’s Satinalia best, with skillful embroidery around the collar, cuffs and hem. It was also clearly made for someone wider and shorter than Signy. She rummaged around in the clothes chest at the foot of the bed and found a shirt and trousers that wouldn’t be too awkward, which she put on. She’d apologize to the owner later. Her own shoes were there, though the soles were nearly worn through in a couple places now. They hadn’t been made for heavy wear.

The officer -- she really needed to get his name -- walked in just as she finished slipping the shirt on, closing the door quickly behind him.

“Don’t you knock?” Signy snapped. “You almost walked in on me half naked!” She fought the urge to try to hide her legs. Even after months out of robes, trousers still felt odd.

“Sorry!” he said. He was blushing, though whether from embarrassment or the idea of a half-naked woman she couldn’t be sure. Either way, the flustered expression on his face would have been kind of cute in other circumstances. He was resolutely not looking at anything below her nose.

“Apparently it’s just a day for me to be barged in on,” she grumbled. The officer handed her a walking stick, as well as a coat that mostly fit, without another word.

“Whose house is this?” Signy asked.

“I’m told the owners were the village cobbler and his wife. They were both at the Temple when it...” He trailed off, grimacing.

“They died in the explosion,” Signy finished for him. Plenty of villagers had been making some extra coin serving at the Temple. There was a lump in her throat, and something like guilt was boiling up in her gut. She rubbed at her temples with her unoccupied hand, frowning. Why did she feel guilty? She’d done nothing wrong, had apparently tried to save the Divine. But she still couldn’t remember that, or anything after leaving camp that morning. The thought of that missing chunk of time was distinctly uncomfortable, even frightening. She shied away from thinking about it too much.

“Let’s get to the chantry,” she said.

Signy opened the cabin door. She was expecting, perhaps, a guard or two outside.

Instead there was a crowd of people, many of them praying. When they caught sight of her, a murmur swept through the crowd and a few people knelt, right there in the snow.

Signy closed the cabin door.

_What in the Maker’s grace?_

She looked to the officer, half-expecting him to be laughing at her. He wasn’t. His expression was somber, thoughtful.

“Why are those people out there?”

“There have been… certain rumors about your survival. People have begun to see you as touched by Andraste.” He looked away as he said it, expression unsettled.

Well, that wouldn’t last, not once they found out she was a mage.

With a deep breath, Signy opened the door again.

“What’s your name, ser?” she asked as the two of them stepped out into the cold winter morning. She tried not to meet the eyes of anyone in the crowd.

“It’s Cullen.”

“Good to meet you, Cullen. Please, catch me if my knees fail along the way.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, smiling slightly.

As the two of them made their way through the crowd to the chantry, Signy tried to ignore way people stared at her, the whispers that followed her. She failed.

* * *

 

The chantry was mercifully empty, aside from a pair of sisters who were busy cleaning and two men in armor guarding a room at the end of the nave. They saluted Cullen as he and Signy approached, though one of them couldn’t keep his eyes off Signy as he did so. Signy couldn’t read the gaze, and it heightened her discomfort.

When Cullen opened the door, a man Signy recognized as the Grand Chancellor, but whose name she couldn’t recall, was in the middle of a rant. He stopped between one syllable and the next at the sight of Signy and his eyes snapped to the walking stick in her hand. Before Signy could say that she wasn’t going to use it to turn anyone into a toad, the Chancellor spoke.

“Chain her. I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

The guards looked at one another, then one took a hesitant step toward Signy.

“Disregard that, and leave us,” said Cassandra Pentaghast’s voice from deeper in the room. The guards looked to Cullen for confirmation. He nodded, and they went back to standing on either side of the door like statues.

Signy had never seen the back rooms of a chantry before. In fact, until a few months ago, she’d only ever been in the chapel of the Ostwick Circle, not even a real chantry. It was larger than she had expected. Maybe the chantry mother slept here, too? Regardless, the bulk of the space was now occupied by a large table. Around it stood the Chancellor, the Seeker, and Leliana.

“You walk a fine line, Seeker,” the Chancellor said as Signy and Cullen entered the room. He was still keeping a wary eye on Signy’s walking stick.

Pentaghast turned to Signy, ignoring the Chancellor for the moment. She gestured to a pair of chairs set against one wall. “Perhaps you should have a seat, Mistress Signy.” Her tone was less harsh than it had been the last time they’d spoken. Maybe she’d had time to calm down.

Signy nodded gratefully, but hesitated before sitting down. If they were going to be discussing her fate, she couldn’t afford to be pushed to the margins of the meeting.

She dragged a chair over to the table, wincing as it scrapped against the floor, and only then took a seat, leaning the walking staff against the arm of the chair.

“The Breach may be stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it,” Pentaghast said, addressing the Chancellor once more.

“And _she_ is not? This woman -- this _mage_ \-- impersonated a noble!” he said, gesturing wildly at Signy.

“You all assumed I was this Lady Trevelyan, though I still haven’t figured out why,” Signy said, though she actually had a strong suspicion. The Trevelyan sister had looked so much like her, some of their features were practically identical. “I’ve never impersonated her, or anyone else.”

Pentaghast raised her eyebrow and fixed Signy with a look that she could practically hear: _yet you didn’t tell me you were a mage until it became obvious._

“Enough! She is a prisoner, not a guest,” the Chancellor said.

“So even after everything we did, even after practically killing myself to close the Breach, I’m still a suspect?” Signy should probably avoid drawing his attention, but she found that, after months of freedom, she was unwilling to silence the voice she was still discovering she had -- even for the Chantry’s chosen and their egos. She still felt a little like throwing up after speaking that way.

“You absolutely are,” the man said.

“No, she is not,” Pentaghast cut in. “You were not at the temple, Chancellor Roderick. You did not hear the Divine calling out to her, begging for her help.” The growl in her voice almost hid its wounded tone. Almost.

“So her survival, that thing on her hand -- all a coincidence?” Roderick said.

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Signy supposed she should just be glad Pentaghast wasn’t accusing her of mass murder anymore, but it unnerved her that the Seeker would believe talk about her being blessed.

“You can’t tell me you believe this Andraste talk. I’m a mage, Seeker,” she said

“I had not forgotten. But whether or not you are truly Andraste’s Herald, you were exactly what we needed when we needed it.”

“Wait. Wait. ‘Herald?’” She stood and glared at Cullen. “All you said was that some people thought I’d been blessed. This sounds like they think I’m some sort of… of.. chosen one!”

“I hadn’t heard this” he said. “What’s going on, Leliana?”

The redhead, who had been doing something with a large chest at the side of the room, spoke without looking up. “Someone was seen behind Mistress Signy in the rift. A woman. There are some among the remaining pilgrims who believe that was Andraste. As of yet, it is only a few.”

“‘As of yet.’ You think there will be more?” Signy said, sitting back down in shock. Not because she was tired. She couldn’t be tired already.

“These rumors are irrelevant. The prisoner --” Roderick started.

“My name is Signy.”

“The prisoner must be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by the new Divine,” he finished, not even looking at Signy.

“And when do you suppose we’ll have one of those?” Cullen said.

“That is not my decision, Knight-Captain,” Roderick said.

The title went through her like a lightning bolt. She gripped the arms of her chair, struggling to maintain a neutral expression. Cullen was a templar. Dammit, she had been starting to like him.

The sound of the templar’s voice drew her back to the conversation at hand “That is no longer my-- “

“Your duty, however, is clear, and so is yours, Seeker. You serve the Chantry.”

“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours,” Pentaghast said.

“Her mark is our only hope of closing the Breach,” Leliana said. She seemed to have found what she was looking for: a sheaf of parchment, the top sheet covered in ornate seals. She passed it to Pentaghast, and a subtle smirk crossed the taller woman’s face.

The Chancellor didn’t seem to notice. “None of this is for you to decide,” he said.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” Pentaghast said. She slapped the parchments down in front of the Chancellor. “A writ from the Divine, granting us authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or without your approval.”

The Chancellor made a choked, outraged noise, threw his hands up into the air and stormed out.

“This is the Divine’s directive: Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos,” Leliana said, speaking almost to herself. Then, alarmingly, she turned to Signy. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: We must act now. With you at our side,” Pentaghast said. She held out a hand toward Signy.

Signy wished she had a clever way out of this, a trick to avoid answering the question in Pentaghast’s eyes. On the other hand, didn’t she owe them honesty, given what they faced?

“No,” she said.

Pentaghast’s brow furrowed. “You should know that while some believe you chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if--“

“I said no,” Signy repeated. Her resolve not to let her fear into her voice kept her anger out, too.

Cullen spoke up, stepping forward from his place by the wall. “Your mark is the only means we have of--” Signy shied back instinctively as the templar moved toward her. He froze, an flat, unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re refounding an organization of mage hunters,” Signy said. Her voice came out in a monotone. “I’ve read about the Inquisition, and I won’t be party to that.” How dare they? How dare they ask this of her, these agents of the Chantry?

“The original Inquisition was not simply –” Pentaghast started.

“Bullshit!” The word exploded from Signy’s mouth before she could think it through. “Every reputable historian I’ve read, from LeTrec to Josephus to Ellian, agrees. The only half-way credible dissent I’ve seen is Genitivi, and he’s a dabbler in the field, not a real historian!”

“Scholarship aside, this isn’t about hunting down apostates,” Cullen said in a tone she’d heard a thousand times. It was a ‘you need to calm down’ tone, a ‘we’re all friends here’ tone. A tone templars used when they felt like being gentle. “The Breach is a greater threat than any mage, and you are the only one who has any power over it.”

“… I need to think,” Signy said. No one said a word as she took her walking stick and left the room.

* * *

 

In the nave of the chantry, the two sisters were still cleaning. From this angle, Signy could see that they were scrubbing at bloodstains. Had the chantry been used as an infirmary during the immediate aftermath of the explosion?

Signy could feel the door guards staring at back. She had to get out of here, away from them and from the sisters and everyone else. But she couldn’t go outside. Outside they were calling her ‘Herald of Andraste’ and, Maker help them all, expecting her to save them.

A few doors, discreetly placed in shadowed alcoves, led off the nave. She tried one and froze when she found stairs leading down. The cell she’d woken in the first time was down there. She slammed the door closed, breathing hard, and stepped back.

The next door led to a small room with an icon of Andraste, a dozen partially melted candles, and a knee cushion for prayer. Signy went in and closed the door behind her, leaving her in the dark, kneeling.

Breathing exercises were one of the first things Signy had learned in the Circle. Before you could control magic, you had to control yourself. She used a basic one now: inhale for four, pause, exhale for four, pause. Repeat. You can’t control magic, you can’t control _anything,_ until you can control yourself.

Signy had never been very good at that.

When her heartbeat had slowed, she tried a basic spell to summon fire. It fizzled, a flood of sparks coming to her fingers but no real fire. She growled in anger, then stopped herself. Inhale for four, pause, exhale for four, repeat. _Get a hold of yourself, Signy._

It wasn’t that she was a weak mage -- she had raw power in plentitude. But she lacked control. She had never learned to moderate the flow of her power. If she opened the floodgates more than a trickle, her reservoir of mana would gush into her spells with no reserve. She could have sparks, or she could have an inferno. Anything in between was much more difficult. She breathed for a while more, calming herself again. She tried to let thoughts drift past without touching her, to concentrate just on the fire spell. When she felt ready, she lifted a candle in one hand and touched the wick with a finger of another, then cast.

She managed not to set the little room on fire, at least, though she melted a good quarter of the candle setting it alight. She set it back in its holder.

Stare at the flame. Inhale for four, pause, exhale for four, pause. Try not to think about it yet. Repeat.

She couldn’t not think about it. She had to deal with this. It was so big, though. What was she supposed to do? Set out on her own to close these rifts? She wouldn’t be able to assemble an organization like the Chantry would. No one but a mage would follow a mage, and few mages would follow one of their number with such a poor mastery of their art.

Signy’s eyes shifted to the icon of Andraste. She hadn’t prayed in months.

“ _Oh Maker, you have created me pure in soul_

_You have shaped me_

_And breathed me into mortal flesh_

_And You protect me still,_ ” she recited. It was the beginning of a common prayer for guidance, one she had recited a thousand times in the Circle chapel. The words were beautiful.

They were also a formula. They weren’t her words, and they turned to bile in her mouth. So she tried something new, instead of reciting one of the prayers she’d been taught: She talked to Andraste.

“I believed in you when I was young, you know. Really, really believed in you. Even after they took me to the Circle. More then, maybe. I thought maybe if I prayed hard enough you would take the magic away.”

Signy’s knees were aching, even with the cushion. She shifted to a sitting position, back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest and arms around them.

“But you didn’t. So I decided you weren’t really there. Maybe you left with the Maker. Maybe you were never divine, just some rebel leader who grew into a myth. But now people are saying you’ve blessed me and some of them think you’ve chosen me for something. I guess for closing these rifts. And you know what the sickest part is? I want to believe them. Because then maybe there’d be a reason you didn’t take the magic. Maybe there’d be a reason you left me in the Circle. **”**

“If this is what you’ve been preserving me for, I need… I need _something_. Some kind of sign. I need to know there’s a reason for all this.” Her heart was speeding up again. Her breath was coming fast. “Please.”

She sat, taking deep breaths to calm herself. After a minute, she dragged her thoughts back to the present and more immediate matters.

What was she doing talking to an icon like this? Did she even believe anyone was listening? She needed to focus. She needed to think through her next steps. Except there wasn’t much to think through, was there? She was the only one who could close the rifts. She needed support to do that: people to defend her against demons, to get her to where she needed to go, to look legitimate and official and more trustworthy than a lone mage. She needed this Inquisition.

* * *

 

A few minutes later, Signy emerged from the shrine, face carefully composed. She walked the short distance to the back room with slow, deliberate steps, walking stick clacking on the stone floor. Any minor shaking could be easily attributed to three days in bed.

When she opened the door, all eyes in the room turned toward her.

“There are conditions,” she said, unconsciously clenching her unoccupied fist at her side. “And they are not minor. Meet them, and I’ll stay. I’ll help you close this Breach.”

After a moment of silence, Signy realized she they were waiting for her to continue.

“First and simplest, there are some people I want found, people who came to the conclave but wouldn’t have been at the opening ceremony. I need to know they surv- are alright. Can you do that?”

“We’re already assembling a list of survivors,” the templar said. “I assume your people can see to this, Leliana?”

“Of course,” the redhead said.

_They have ‘people’ already? How long has this plan been in place?_

“Second,” Signy continued, “I’m not joining the Chantry. If that means I’m not officially with you, so be it. I’ll still help. But I’m not going to be part of that hierarchy.”

“That should not be--” Pentaghast started, but Signy cut her off. If she didn’t keep going, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get the last one out. It was already hard to ask, harder than she had expected. An instinctive thrill of fear shivered up her spine.

“Finally,” she said, “I’m part of the leadership, or I’m not with you at all. I won’t be just a foot soldier with unique abilities.  If you want me, then I’m personally making sure this isn’t a mage hunt.”

It was a bluff, all of it. She didn’t intend to walk away from a problem this big, whether or not they agreed to her demands. But even if they knew that, she was certain they wanted her there as willingly as possible. This should work. It had to.

Looks passed around the table.

“Joining the Chantry should not be an issue,” Pentaghast said, tone identical to how she had begun earlier. “No one can be compelled to do so, and in any case the Divine’s writ explicitly establishes us as outside the main organization. As for your final request--”

“It’s not a request,” Signy interrupted.

“-- we will need to discuss it,” the Seeker continued as though Signy hadn’t spoken. “Perhaps you could retire to your lodgings for a time?”

Signy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Now that she had made her decision and said her piece, her physical exhaustion was hitting her full force.

“Would you like an escort?” Cullen asked, and Signy had to make an effort to keep her expression neutral as she nodded. She didn’t want to face that crowd alone.

Cullen himself didn’t walk Signy back to the cabin, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want to face the crowd by herself, but she also didn’t want a templar at her back. Instead, an elven woman who introduced herself as Minaeve walked quietly beside her, politely deflecting the handful of people who approached rather than simply staring.

“I’ll have Adan come by,” Minaeve said when they reached the cabin. “He looked after you while you were asleep.”

Signy nodded numbly and sat down on the bed. Minaeve started to leave.

“Wait,” Signy said. “Before you go… what’s your part in all this?”

“All this?”

So she didn’t know about the Inquisition. Signy rephrased. “What are you doing in Haven?”

“Oh. I arrived a few days ago with Sister Leliana. She seems to think it’ll be handy to have an expert in exotic beasts.” After a moment, she added, “I was at the Circle at Ansburg.”

“But you weren’t with the rebellion?”

“No,” Minaeve said. “And I was just an apprentice. I’ll get Adan now.”

Adan turned out to be a grouchy middle-aged man who smelled of herbs. When he stalked into the cabin not long after Minaeve left, he looked like someone had spit in his soup.

“At least we won’t have to pour water down your throat now,” was the first thing he said to Signy. “Do you know how hard it is to keep an unconscious person hydrated? Because I haven’t enjoyed finding out.” He departed soon after, leaving her with a tea for her aches and telling her to drink plenty of liquids and not to eat any large meals for a while. After that, she found herself with nothing to do but wait.

It didn’t take as long as she expected. After perhaps another quarter of an hour, Leliana came to see her.

Signy was seated in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and had been drifting off when Leliana arrived. The redhead took her time seating herself in the cabin’s only other chair. Signy spent that time trying to tug at a mental thread somehow associated with the other woman’s name. She knew she had seen it somewhere… It wasn’t a common name anywhere, was it?

“Are you here to let me down gently, then?” Signy asked.

“No. I am here to tell you that we accept your conditions.”

Shock banished Signy’s drowsiness. Logically, she had thought it likely they would agree, but it still felt alien to make a full-on demand and not be dismissed out of hand. Even in her time away from the Circle, she had rarely been so blunt, and never with anything approaching these stakes.

“Thank you, Lady Leliana,” Signy said. The blanket fell from her shoulders as she reached out to shake the other woman’s hand.

“I’m no lady,” Leliana said, with a genuine smile. “And welcome to the Inquisition, Mistress Signy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several people looked this over for me, but x_medea (lafemmedigitale on tumblr) and faerieavalon were my full-on betas for this piece, and the ones who said yes when I offered to credit them. Thanks so much to everyone who helped me out!
> 
> The banner is by kowbonez of pillowfort.social.


	2. Evelyn is Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd here's our deuteragonist, which is a word I enjoy knowing far too much.  
> Beta'd once more by faerieavalon and x_medea.

Brigid Trevelyan sat in the pavilion she had shared with her sister Evelyn and tried not to think about the fact that Evelyn was dead. Earlier, after finally confirming with her own eyes that the survivor from the Temple wasn’t her sister, she’d managed to cry herself to sleep for a while. Maker knew she hadn’t had much rest in the last few days.

Everyone at the temple perished, she’d been told, but only a few hours later they’d had some oddly specific questions about Evelyn. How tall was she? What color were her hair and eyes? Did she have any scars? Rumors had begun to circulate that there was a survivor, and Brigid had begun to hope.

All in vain. When she’d finally gotten a look at the survivor… well, if she’d been in a forgiving mood she might have admitted that the woman looked a fair amount like Evelyn, until she opened those grey eyes. Evelyn had their mother’s hazel eyes. Brigid had her father’s, pale grey and with a slightly upturned outer corner. She hadn’t thought about the fact that the survivor had those same eyes yet. She hadn’t let herself.

Brigid had woken perhaps a quarter hour ago to find her pillow and her cheeks dry and Susanna, the maid who had come with her and Evelyn, folding clothes. Brigid’s clothes. She hadn’t touched Evelyn’s things at all. Good.

But they’d have to touch them eventually, wouldn’t they? They’d have to pack them up to return to Ostwick. They’d have to decide what to do with her clothes and her prayer book and copy of the Chant and all the notes she’d made for herself in preparation for the Conclave. Brigid felt nauseous at the thought. She sat up, watching Susanna’s movements as closely as she could to keep from focusing on anything else.

Brigid needed to be doing something. She couldn’t let herself focus on Evelyn, and suddenly she couldn’t stand to be in the same space as her sister’s things. She stood and grabbed her bow and quiver from the small camp table in one corner of the pavillion.

Susanna frowned. “Milady, if you don’t mind my saying so --” she started

“I very much do mind,” Brigid said, her tone cold. She’d regret that later. She had practically grown up with Susanna, and with Evelyn gone she was the only person here that Brigid could talk to, even a little. But right now Brigid just needed to leave, and she needed the focus on a simple target that archery would give her. Someone had set up archery butts against Haven’s outer wall. After only a short walk, Brigid claimed one and set to practicing.

_ Evelyn is dead, _ she told herself as the first arrow hit the target, well off center, trying to make the fact feel real.

_ Evelyn is dead, _ and another arrow hit closer to the center.

She pulled a third arrow from her quiver.

_ Evelyn is -- _

A horn trumpeted from inside the gate in what Brigid recognized as a summoning call. People began to murmur, then to move toward the gate.

Brigid put the arrow back and slung her bow over her shoulder. What was happening now? With her luck, probably a Blight.

* * *

 

All of Haven must have gathered by the steps of the chantry, as well as at least half of the people who had camped around the village for the Conclave and hadn’t yet fled. On the steps stood five figures. Most prominent among them was Cassandra Pentaghast, easily identifiable by her surcoat with the heraldry of the Seekers of Truth. Brigid gritted her teeth. Pentaghast had been the one to come to her with questions about Evelyn. Although the Seeker had claimed from the start that they were only trying to identify a body, it had a been a clumsy lie. She’d given Brigid false hope, intentionally or not.

Pentaghast was speaking, her voice ringing out across the crowd.

“...with the refounding of the Inquisition of old, we pledge ourselves to stand against chaos. We pledge to close the Breach, and to calm this troubled time.”

“This was our beloved Divine’s last order, and it will be carried out. We must not despair in this time of trials. With faith and perseverance, we will triumph!”

Despite the awkward wording, the Seeker’s passion came through clearly, and it was infectious. People all around Brigid cheered, and Pentaghast had to wait for them to quiet.

Nobody else seemed to be looking at the others standing with Pentaghast. The bright red hair peeking out from beneath a shorter figure’s hood likely belonged to the woman who had been pointed out to Brigid as Sister Leliana, the Divine’s spymaster. Evelyn had called her an ‘agitator,’ muttering through pursed lips the way she did when she wanted to use stronger words. Brigid wasn’t sure of the woman in gold and blue. The man with the fur-topped red mantle was the officer they’d sent to keep her away from the survivor this morning. And the one standing just to Pentaghast’s right… it couldn’t be, could it? Brigid squinted, standing on her toes to try to get a better look.

It was the survivor. She couldn’t see her very well, but it was a tall woman with a long brown braid and the right lanky build.

“What is she doing up there?” Brigid asked with a grimace. She had no reason to dislike the woman -- none of this was her fault -- but resentment lingered.

“Which one?” said a voice to her left. It belonged to a woman with short reddish hair who Brigid had seen serving drinks.

“The tall one with the braid.”

“Haven’t you heard?” the other woman said. “That’s the Herald of Andraste, the survivor of the Breach.” She sounded almost breathless.

Pentaghast was still speaking, but without a word Brigid turned and started pushing her way out of the crowd. She needed to shoot more targets before she punched someone.


	3. Into Battle, Pen in Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> x_medea was a huge help in the early stages of writing this, and LathboraViran was there at the end with a final readthrough.

Cassandra Pentaghast, Signy decided, was better at giving speeches than writing them. Lady Montilyet, who would be serving as the Inquisition’s ambassador and who Signy hadn’t really spoken to yet, had wanted time to rewrite Pentaghast’s draft. Cullen had pointed out that the longer they waited the more potential recruits drifted away as the Conclave attendees packed up and left Haven. Signy and Pentaghast had agreed and, in their first informal vote, overruled Montilyet and Leliana.

After the speech, the five of them returned to the room at the back of the Chantry to discuss their first moves as an organization.

"It occurs to me I’m not clear on your position here, Mistress Leliana,” Signy said as Cullen closed the door behind them. She focused on Leliana to avoid thinking about that: a templar shutting a door behind her. It was different this time. This wasn’t an interrogation.

“Please, just Leliana,” the woman replied. “My position here involves a degree of--”

Pentaghast cut in. “She is our spymaster.”

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana said.

For Signy, the word ‘spy’ conjured up templars watching her every move and encouraging her to report anything ‘suspicious’ to them. They’d had a broad definition of suspicious.

“I didn’t realize we were planning to be involved in espionage,” said Signy.

“Intelligence gathering is important,” Cullen said. “That doesn’t mean we’ll be putting the full range of bardic skills into play. We’re not planning to assassinate anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Leliana’s expression was alarmingly blank. Hopefully the others would lean toward Cullen and Signy’s feelings on outright murder. For now, Signy let the matter drop.

The idea Cullen went on to explain was simple: they needed to use as many contacts as possible to create the impression that the Inquisition was a legitimate organization if they wanted anyone to help them close the Breach. Presumably, they didn’t expect enough mages to come out of the woodwork on their own. Lady Montilyet had assembled some very long lists, and they spent a few hours poring over and annotating them. Unlike Signy, the rest of the group had an impressive number of friends and acquaintances across southern Thedas. It reminded Signy just how small her world, which until a few months ago had consisted solely of the other inhabitants of Ostwick’s Circle, was. She felt more than a little useless, but reminded herself she was here to protect her fellow mages, not because she had some particular skill in leadership or politics. In the end, it was much more interesting than she had expected and she only realized how long had passed when a servant brought in bread and soft cheese for a light dinner.

“Leliana,” Lady Montilyet said as the food was passed around, “I’m sorry to bring up something so personal, but the Warden--”

“I’ve had no word from Natia,” Leliana said, tone carefully controlled.

The names ‘Natia’ and ‘Leliana’ in combination finally made something click for Signy.

“Maker,” she murmured into the silence that followed Leliana’s words. “You’re  _ that  _ Leliana, aren’t you?”

Leliana smiled wryly. “At least I got to make my own first impression for once. Yes, I am.”

“I should have known that. The library at Ostwick wasn’t exactly up to date on very recent history. I could tell you about Ferelden’s rebellion against Orlais, but scholarly consensus on the Fifth Blight is still in its infancy and our librarian --”

Pentaghast cleared her throat and Signy blushed.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I get a bit excited about books, and history is a particular interest of mine.”

“So it would seem,” Cullen said. He looked like he was holding back a grin. “In any case, I believe we have a solid list to start from. Shall we adjourn?”

“I believe so,” Lady Montilyet said. “Though, if you have a moment, Mistress Signy, I should like to speak to you.”

“Of course,” Signy said. She wanted to get a better read on Lady Montilyet, and had no doubt that the ambassador wanted the same of her.

The two of them went to the ambassador’s office which was, as Montilyet put it, “a bit less drafty, if no less rustic.” They sat in a pair of chairs by the fire and Montilyet offered Signy some sort of dried fruit plumped up with wine. Signy hesitated, unsure what exactly she was looking at.

“They’re from my Uncle Timeo’s orchards. He takes great joy in developing new strains, and these figs keep their flavor particularly well when dried,” Montilyet said, and Signy didn’t fail to notice how she slipped in the name of the fruit. She took one, and found it pleasantly sweet without being cloying.

“Mistress SIgny, I fear there will me be many questions about you and your origins in the days to come,” Montilyet said, nibbling at her own fig. “It would be in the best interest of all that we be prepared to answer them before rumor does, and I assume we will want to contact your family as well, to explain your situation.”

Signy rolled her fig between her fingers, wine tinting them red. “I haven’t seen my family in over twenty years, Lady Montilyet. I was five when I left the alienage.”

“Then... you are elf-blooded?” The hesitation after the first word was noticeable, but while there was surprise in Montilyet’s voice, there wasn’t disgust.

“My mother was an elf. So was my step-father. I never knew the man who got my mother in a family way and bolted.”

“You say ‘was.’ Are they no longer with us?” Montilyet sounded remarkably unphased.

“I don’t know,” Signy said. She hoped she gave a similar impression.

Montilyet nodded. She started to reach out to put her hand on Signy’s shoulder, but stopped herself. “Then we had best reach out. Which alienage were they from? What are their names?”

“Ostwick,” Signy said. Her voice came out dull and she had to stop herself from trying to look smaller. “My mother is Mera and my step-father is Hanol. I had a little brother -- half-brother -- named Osin. Mother was a laundress, last I knew, and Hanol was a porter for some merchant.”

“Knowing Leliana, that will likely be enough to find them, given time,” Montilyet said, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and offering it to Signy.

Signy finished her fig and wiped her fingers on the handkerchief. “Is it really necessary?”

“It is. If we do not find them, it is quite possible someone else will. The Inquisition can offer protection, should it be necessary, and counter any rumors that might cause them undo distress.”

“Protection?” Signy paused in the act of handing the handkerchief back.

“One of Leliana’s elven agents, discreetly placed, should be sufficient.”

“There are already agents?”

“Some of the Divine’s former network has stood ready for months now. Leliana is ever prepared,” Montilyet said.

“I… had better write a letter or something, hadn’t I?” Signy said. She handed the handkerchief over.

“That would be wise. I could assist you if you need —”

“No, I’ll do it myself. I should take care of that, if you don’t mind.”

"Of course. I’ll see to it that-- Oh!” Montilyet stood abruptly and crossed the room to pull a slip of paper from a pile. “From Leliana. I believe it may concern one of the parties you were seeking.”

Signy opened the note as soon as she left the Chantry, and found herself grinning. It turned out, unsurprisingly, that the large group of Qunari was easier to track down than the single unassuming, scholarly mage. She might not know what had happened to Lydia yet, but at least most of the Valo-Kas had survived.


	4. Your Path is the Sound of Your Feet on the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the Valo-Kas, including the Adaar siblings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by MyrddinDerwydd, with a title based on my initial mishearing of the lyrics from .fun's Carry On.

Not long after leaving Josephine behind, Signy stopped at the edge of the circle of tents to catch her breath. She should have been able to make the walk to the Valo-Kas encampment without difficulty, but apparently extended bed rest took its toll.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind. She spun around with a strangled yelp to find Ashaban Adaar looking down at her. The bronze-skinned Qunari, usually so calm, looked genuinely shocked to see Signy, but their hand also relaxed from their belt knife at the sight of her face.

“Well,” they said, “I just lost a bet.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Signy said mock-seriously, suppressing a grin. “Who was betting I was still alive?”

Ashaban snorted “My big brother is, as always, an optimistic idiot.”

“You’ll win it back at cards,” Signy said, and that grin burst full-force onto her face.

Ashaban’s answering smile was quieter, but that was typical for them. “True. Good to see you, Signy. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Did you lose anyone?” Signy asked, her own expression growing more somber. She had a feeling she knew the answer.

Ashaban’s smile faded. “Yeah. We lost the Conclave guard contract, thank the stars. But the demons got Nalaar and Tasin. Come on, we can talk over a drink.”

* * *

 

Signy was soon seated on a crate at the Valo-Kas’s cookfire, taking careful sips from a steaming mug. She’d never even heard of chocolate before meeting the Valo-Kas, but she was pretty sure she was now addicted to the liquid form of the stuff. It apparently came from a plant native to Par Vollen.

“Do you and that mug need some time alone?” Ashaban asked.

“Can you really blame me?” Signy said.

“Don’t mind Ashaban,” said Kaaras Adaar, who was seated on his sibling’s other side. “This is just their way of dealing with stress.”

“To be fair, it’s also my way of dealing with just about everything,” Ashaban said.

“How is Asaaranda doing?” Signy asked. Tasin had been her husband. Knowing Asaaranda, she would be channeling her grief into anger, and her anger into sparring. Signy hoped she wasn’t scaring anyone outside the company too badly.

“Not good,” Kaaras said.

“She’ll be all right,” Ashaban said.

“Maybe eventually,” Kaaras said. “But right now she’s definitely not.”

Ashaban sighed. “Fair.” They leaned down to look Signy in the eye. “So, you saw sense?”

“What do you mean?” Signy asked.

“You didn’t go looking for that mentor of yours in the Temple. You’re alive, after all.”

“Actually…”

“I heard not everyone in there died,” Taarlok said, sitting down next to Kaaras. At only a little over six feet tall, the dark grey skinned Qunari was a bit scrawny for his kind. “There were a couple survivors, right?”

“One person,” Ashaban said. “Some noble.”

“Actually, that was me.” Signy tried to say it casually, but it came out a little hoarse.

“What.” Ashaban’s voice was completely devoid of inflection.

“They thought you were a noble? Nice,” Taarlok said. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention, though. He’s pulled out a small, cheaply bound book and was reading by the light of the cookfire.

“Signy, they’re calling the survivor the Herald of Andraste,” Ashaban said, leaning toward Signy. They might not have been trying to loom, but the result was the intimidating all the same.” What the hell have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”

“I thought that was just a few people,” Signy said, the bottom dropping out of her stomach.

Ashaban shook their head. “Maybe, but it’s enough that I heard people talking at the well.”

“Ashaban…” Kaaras said, but his sibling cut him off.

“Kaaras, not now. Signy, what are you going to do? Shokrakar’ll let you travel with us long enough to get away from this Andraste bullshit.”

“Hey!” Kaaras exclaimed.

Taarlok, seeing which way the wind was blowing, quietly withdrew with his book to a nearby tent with a quick “Glad you’re okay, Signy,” as he passed. He avoided religious discussion like a plague.

Ashaban rolled their eyes. “This specific Andraste bullshit, Kaaras.”

“I’m not leaving, Ashaban. I can’t,” Signy said before Kaaras could reply.

“What’s going on?” a female voice said. Signy looked behind her to see a broad-shouldered, broad-hipped Qunari woman emerging from a tent. “Signy, glad you’re alive,” the leader of the Valo-Kas continued.

“Hello, Shokrakar,” Signy said. She was quickly developing a headache.

“Shokrakar, we need to take her with us,” Ashaban said. It was remarkable how they were managing to ignore Signy while focusing the conversation directly on her.

”She’s useless in a fight,” Shokrakar said. She came forward to stand next to Ashaban.

“Then she can wash the fucking dishes,” Ashaban said. “She’s the one they’re calling the Herald.”

“Signy, what the hell?” There were now two impressively muscled Qunari leaning over Signy, one looking incredulous, the other just… intense. Ashaban was good at intense.

“I’m not leaving!” Signy said, louder than she meant to. “I’m just here to check on you all and see if you still have my books.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I can close the rifts, and right now I’m the only one.”

“...shit,” Shokrakar said, summarizing the reaction of the three Qunari admirably.

There was a pause, during which Signy resisted the urge to fidget and tried to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze without looking down. She wasn’t going to look down, to back down. This was where she needed to be.

Finally, Kaaras broke the silence: “Let me get those books.”


	5. Saying it Aloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brigid Trevelyan goes to see the survivor of the Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the inimitable x_medea! Sorry to any repeat readers for the wait.

Brigid sought out the survivor the day after the refounding of the Inquisition was proclaimed, though she wasn’t fully sure why. Something in her just needed to see the woman up close, to speak to her. A few questions around the village served to tell her where the woman was staying, and that her name was Signy. Just Signy, no surname. It was usual enough among commoners not to have one, so all that really told Brigid was the woman’s social standing. Even then, there was no knowing what kind of commoner she was. She could be from educated merchant stock, or a dirt-poor farmer with nothing to her name but a few clods of earth.

The day was warmer than the last few, and Haven was more muddy than snow-covered. It was much less charming. The cabin the “Herald of Andraste” was staying in looked no different than any of the rest, except for the guard at the door. She should have expected the guard, but she hadn’t, and now she stood frozen a few yards away, wondering how she would explain why she needed to see the survivor when she didn’t even know herself.

As Brigid hesitated, the door swung open and the survivor emerged. She looked the same as Brigid remembered: tall, lanky, with muddy  brown hair, and a face that Brigid refused to look at. She was dressed simply, in wool trousers and tunic that looked cut for a man. That made sense.The woman was damnably tall.

Brigid became aware, moments before it passed her, of the sound of a horse approaching at speed. She would normally have been embarrassed to have been taken so unaware, but she was too busy trying unsuccessfully to sidestep the splash of mud. Grimacing, she stalked after the horse, which had halted at the survivor’s door. 

It was a lean bay palfrey, ridden by a man in a yellow Orlesian mask, an elaborately embroidered doublet, and hose that didn’t flatter him in the least. He apparently didn’t know how to modulate his voice.

"Lady Evelyn!” He called out, and suddenly Brigid couldn’t feel the cold. “I believe we met at your great-aunt’s summer ball a few years ago.”

Angry heat flashed through her body, leaving numbness in its wake. This woman was not Evelyn. She would never be Evelyn, could never be anything like her. No one could mistake Evelyn for anything but the noblewoman she was, not with her elegance, her wit, the way she lit up a room when she walked in and shared that light with Brigid, 

“Excuse me?” the survivor said at a more moderate volume. She looked like she was having as much trouble believing this was happening as Brigid.

“Marquis Francisque DuRellion, at your service,” the man said. “I know the masks make it difficult for foreigners.” Brigid could all but see his condescending smile. “My lady, surely the rumors I hear of your involvement in this ‘Inquisition’ cannot be true! Your lord father -- ”

“Evelyn is dead.” 

It was the first time Brigid had said it aloud. She barely heard herself. She was thinking of Great-Aunt Lucille’s most recent summer ball, where she’d managed to avoid most of the dancing, but had been cornered by Lord Kenwick. At the end of the quadrille he’d made a condescending remark about how she couldn’t be expected to _really_ know the steps, living away from society as she did. Evelyn had overheard though, andspent the following Orlesian waltz crushing his toes.

“Pardon me?” said the marquis, bringing Brigid back to the present, and dragging her away from memory back into anger.

“I am Lady Brigid Trevelyan,” Brigid said. “My sister is dead.” Her heart clenched as she said the words, seeming to shrink in on itself. “You are addressing Mistress Signy.”

DuRellion looked between the two of them. Brigid could imagine what he saw: two women, one tall and one of average height,  one with straight brown the other with curling black hair, and both more similar in face than they should have been.. If not for the quality of their dress, they could have looked like family. But where the survivor was dressed in borrowed homespun, Brigid’s riding dress fit her perfectly and was of fine wool, and the red horse rampant of the Trevelyan sigil was prominent in the embroidery. No one should have mistaken them for equals.

“I… beg your pardon, my lady,” the marquis said. “Excuse me miss, but this changes things.” He turned to Brigid. “Lady Brigid, forgive me, it seems that --”

“Not now,” Brigid said. She could just imagine her mother’s disapproving look and Aunt Elodie’s words: _You can do better, Brigid._ But right now, decorum seemed an impossible burden. “I need to speak with Mistress Signy.” Then, as a nod to propriety, “I would be honored to speak with you later today, perhaps over tea?” She’d have to apologize to the marquis later as it was, and hope he wasn’t tied to anyone important to her family.

“Very well, my lady,” DuRellion said stiffly, and remounted to ride away at a pace more appropriate to the streets of a village overstuffed with people than his earlier one.

“Thank you,” the survivor said. 

Despite her all her proper upbringing, Brigid couldn’t bring herself to respond.

Then, cautiously, the survivor asked, “You were there when I woke up, weren’t you?”

“You know they thought you were my sister at first?” Brigid said instead. It came out an accusation.

“Lady Evelyn Trevelyan. I was told,” the survivor said. “By the time I first woke up, that day we patched the Breach, they were pretty sure I wasn’t. But it came up. I think Seeker Pentaghast was holding out hope. She seemed to have a great deal of respect for your sister. She definitely would have preferred her to me.” She smiled, an expression both wry and bitter.

“So would I,” Brigid said. 

The survivor’s smile froze, then slid into anger. 

Brigid looked the survivor straight in the eye, holding her face carefully blank. “I don’t know why I came here,” she said, and turned to leave.

“You said you needed to speak with me,” the survivor said stiffly. “And I assume you’re not one of the ones who thinks I’m handing out blessings, or job assignments. If you want the first, there are plenty of revered mothers around. You can see Threnn if you need something to do. I understand they’re still clearing rubble from the roads, among other things.”

Brigid ignored the sarcasm in the other woman’s voice.

“My sister is dead, and you think I’m looking to do manual labor?” she said. Who did this commoner think she was, talking to Brigid like this?

“A great many people are dead, and a great many more are in mourning. They’re still doing their part,” the survivor said through gritted teeth. “At least you know for sure,” she added, looking away from Brigid’s burning glare. “Goodbye, _Lady_ Brigid.” And with that, she turned and strode past the door guard into her cabin, slamming the door behind her. 

* * *

 

Getting a proper evening tea set up in a pavilion in the middle of nowhere in winter should have been impossible, but Susanna was a miracle worker. She traded some of their fruit for candied nuts and the last of the brandy  for a plate of rustic but delicious meat pastries. Brigid couldn’t for the life of her figure out where the latter had come from, since the villagers were unlikely to be wasting time on so many layers of pastry. All in all, it would do.

After Marquis DuRellion’s man came by to arrange the exact timing, Susanna set some Wycome jasmine tea to steep. Brigid changed into a dress without mud on it, handed off her soiled one to Susanna for laundering, and put her hair up in a passable bun. She was mentally preparing herself of her umpteenth round of ‘the country bumpkin versus the sophisticate’ when the marquis arrived.

Initial pleasantries went by smoothly, and Brigid managed to get through the inevitable condolences with stoic tears rather than a sobbing fit or the rage she’d felt that afternoon. She even managed a particularly gracious apology for her earlier rudeness. The marquis waved it off.

“I am the one who must apologize for this morning’s confusion,” he said. “To have such a woman mistaken for your sister…”

“Already forgotten, my lord,” Brigid lied. She spooned some more nuts on her plate, concentrating on that to control her expression. There was the anger, or a hint of it, nipping at her mind.

The marquis shook his head. “It is inexcusable, my lady. A grave error I am ashamed to have made, and one I pray you will forgive in time. Your sister was a woman of unimpeachable morals and faith, and the more I learn about this so-called-Herald of Andraste… well, the word is that she is a mage. Outrageous! To think that such a person could --”

“Is that true,” Brigid interrupted, “or just a rumor?” It had to be just a rumor.

Durellion looked taken aback, but he answered her question. “I-- It could be, but the more reliable sources have been remarkably consistent. She is from the Circle at Ostwick, and either an aequitarian or, and I pray this is not so, a libertarian.”

“The Herald of Andraste is a mage,” Brigid said, forcing the words to fit in her mouth. It was so unfair she wanted to scream. Instead, she made a feeble excuse about feeling suddenly ill and asked the marquis directly to leave. Elodie would have been shocked by her behavior. Brigid couldn’t bring herself to care.

Brigid was far from a perfect Andrastian, but she _believed._ Not just in Andraste and Her Chant, but in the Chantry. If the Chantry was imperfect, Brigid’s adherence to its laws was even more so. But the idea that Andraste would choose a mage… if it were true, it changed _everything._

Evelyn would have dismissed the idea out of hand. She probably would have been right. And yet...

Brigid couldn’t think about this, not right now. It was too much.

“A mage.” She said it aloud once more, then shook her head, trying to clear it.

“I’m going to the Chantry,” she told Susanna, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, mending one of Brigid’s cloaks and waiting to refresh the tea. “I need to pray.”


	6. How to Be Responsible When the Sky is Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chantry reacts to the founding of the Inquisition. Ashaban Adaar reacts to a major decision on their brother's part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to KariCalamity for betaing this chapter, and to [Ent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ent) for taking a look earlier on and reassuring me that the two parts actually fit together.

The council sat around the table in  all staring at the parchment sitting in the middle of it. The decree on the table had more seals on it than Divine Justinia’s Inquisition proclamation had displayed, though on average they were smaller. They were the seals of grand clerics and prominent revered mothers, according to Leliana.

“How did they get it here so fast?” Signy finally asked.

“Relay riders,” Leliana said, “and even then, they’ll have nearly killed their horses.”

“This must be the fastest the Chantry has ever issued a denouncement,” Cullen said.

Leliana shook her head. “There are only a few clerics of note left to persuade. In fact, I doubt this actually meets the requirements for an official denunciation,” she said

“It’s official enough to cause trouble, I assume,” Signy said, rubbing her temples. “Please tell me this is just because they still think I’m responsible.” She couldn’t believe she was saying those words, but they were sincere.

Lady Montilyet shook her head. “That is no longer the entirety of it. Word of people calling you the Herald has also reached the clerics.”

Signy groaned, slumping down in her chair. 

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading --” Leliana began, but Pentaghast interrupted her.

“Which we have not,” the Seeker said curtly.

_ I should have done something about this, before it got so far, _ Signy thought.  _ I’m not in the Circle anymore. I have a voice, and I can use it. _ She had to keep reminding herself of that.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you,” Leliana said. “How could they not? A mage, saved and chosen by Andraste herself.” Her voice hitched ever so slightly on the word ‘saved.’ Signy doubted anyone else noticed. Well, maybe Cullen. Templars got as good at listening to mages as mages did at listening to Templars.

If he noticed, he didn’t give any indication. Instead, he turned to Signy.

“It’s quite a lot to live up to, isn’t it?” he said, raising an eyebrow. He was trying to be friendly. She couldn’t quite bring herself to be friendly back, so she tried for businesslike and efficient.

“We should be focusing on the Breach,” Signy said. “I’m surprised the Chantry isn’t.”

Cullen shook his head. “They know it’s a threat. They just don’t think  _ we _ can stop it.”

“And right now, we can’t,” Leliana said. Then, alarmingly, she leaned toward Signy. “We can’t simply ignore this Herald rumor. People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign.”

Signy couldn’t meet her eyes, the weight of Leliana’s faith sitting heavily on her. “The point here” she replied instead, “is that the Chantry won’t be aiding us. We need to look elsewhere.”

Leliana nodded, still fixing Signy with a look that was uncomfortably evaluative. “We must approach the rebel mages for help. Your mark needs more power to close the Breach.” 

Cullen shook his head. “I still say templars would serve just as well.”

Still? What did he mean still? When had they discussed this before? Were the four of them meeting privately, deciding on things in secret before bringing them to the ‘full’ council?

Signy pushed those paranoid thoughts to the back of her mind. Most likely, Cullen and Leliana had happened to have a private conversation on the matter. Unlike Signy, they didn’t spend most of their time outside of meetings alone. Or in failed attempts to hone magical skills, but that was another matter.

Pentaghast shook her head. “We need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark--”. 

Cullen interrupted. “Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so--”

And then Leliana interrupted him. “Pure speculation.”

“Believe me, I know what templars are capable of,” snapped Cullen.

So did Signy. All this heated discussion between people she barely knew was making her want to flee. She knew which way she would be voting, if it came to that.

“It doesn’t matter, since neither group will speak to us yet,” Josephine said. Signy wondered if Josephine had noticed her discomfort, or was just tired of the interrupting. “Until they do,  we must continue to martial our resources. The Chantry’s denouncement sets us back in that cause, as well.”

At that Signy straightened in her chair. “They’re acknowledging our existence,” she said. “That means they think we’re a threat, and if we’re a threat we have leverage.”

“True.” Leliana said. She pulled the parchment closer, and her voice was thoughtful as she continued. ““Some of these names are telling, in fact. Both those who have signed and those who have not. They’ve included many prominent revered mothers to be certain, but there are some who they could have reached in time but who must have abstained. We can reach out to them, and to others too far to have been invited to add their endorsement. There are a few others as well, women I know by reputation…”

The discussion turned to how best to approach various revered mothers and Signy was struck, once again, by how little she could contribute.

_ I’m here for the mages, _ she reminded herself. But it wasn’t just the mages who were in danger.

* * *

Outside the Chantry, it was snowing gently but steadily, so Signy decided to venture out toward the tavern for supper before it got much deeper. The meeting had gone longer than expected, and the sun was already low in the sky.

"Signy!" The voice was loud, maybe louder than human lungs were capable of, and the distinctive androgynous timbre told Signy exactly who was angry at her. Signy turned to face Ashaban. Then she took a step back.

Ashaban's facial expressions were normally subtle, but as they closed on Signy, there was fire in their eyes and their mouth was an open snarl. Their white hair, normally held back in a neat braid,  was loose around their face. The stubs of their filed-down horns stuck out from the sides of their head, and that struck Signy as unnatural in a way it hadn't since the first days after she met the Valo-Kas. It didn't help that Ashaban was a bit over six and a half feet tall.

Ashaban came to a stop far too close for Signy’s comfort. "What the  _ fuck _ did you say to my brother?" Ashaban roared.

"What?" Signy said. She didn't know what she had been expecting, but something involving Kaaras? Definitely not that.

"What do you mean 'what?'" Ashaban's voice came out a growl through clenched teeth. They bent down, staring into Signy's eyes. "... you don't know. Stars, you don’t even know."

"I don't know  _ what,  _ Ashaban?" Signy's voice came out much more shrill than she would have liked.

"Lady Herald, do you require assistance?" someone called from behind Ashaban.

_ Oh shit, this could get very ugly very fast. _

"It's fine!" Signy responded quickly. Her voice was still shakier than she would have liked. "Just a misunderstanding!" 

That was something of an understatement, but the Qunari was already schooling their expression to something more muted. "What's going on, Ashaban? What can we do to fix things?"

Signy didn't believe Ashaban would hurt her. Probably not, at least. But most people, including the cluster of soldiers in their crisp new Inquisition uniforms gathering a few yards behind the Qunari, hadn't crossed the Waking Sea with the Valo-Kas in close quarters. They had likely never seen a Qunari in their lives, and now one was looming over their supposed holy figure. Ashaban wasn't armed as far as Signy could see, but she doubted that would matter to the soldiers.

“My brother,” Ashaban said through still-gritted teeth, “has decided to join this Inquisition of yours. Do you have any idea how much danger that will put him in, Signy? A lone Qunari in a Chantry organization?”

Signy restrained herself from protesting that the Inquisition had just been officially denounced by the Chantry.

It was at this point that Kaaras himself showed up. He wasn’t as dramatic in his entrance as Ashaban, but, for all that he seemed to be trying to look unthreatening, he was nearly seven feet tall. Signy shivered, from both cold and the sudden realization that either of them could probably break her in half if the wanted.

“Leave her out of this, Ashaban,” Kaaras said. “This isn’t about her.”

“How exactly is this not about her?” Ashaban said sarcastically. That was good. Sarcasm meant they were getting back to their normal self. “This Herald shit…” They trailed off, and for the first time Signy noticed the fear in their eyes. “You can’t believe this, Kaaras. I I know how much all this” they gestured at the Chantry looming silently behind them, “means to you, even if I don’t understand why. I know you believe in Andraste and the Maker and all of it, but this…”

“I never said I thought she was the Herald of Andraste,” Kaaras said. He spoke carefully, looking stunned. Signy had never seen Ashaban truly angry before, and she got the feeling Kaaras hadn’t seen it often.

“The Valo-Kas have been good to us,” Ashaban said. It took a moment for Signy to realize what the connection was.

“Kaaras, you want to join? That’s crazy,” she said.

“Listen to the Herald, Kaaras,” Ashaban said. Signy would have glared if she hadn't been worried about them flying into a rage again. She settled for digging her feet into the snowy mud of the street, as if firming up her stance would keep her steady emotionally.

“This isn’t your decision, Ashaban” Kaaras said, with an exasperated wave of his arm. “I’ve already resigned and gotten my backpay; I’ll be reporting to the commander first thing in the morning. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you beforehand, but can you really say you wouldn’t have had a fit?”

This was insane. A Qunari in the Inquisition. Didn’t he know how hard this would be?

But then again, would it really be that much harder than for a mage? And just how hard  _ that _ was would depend on what kind of organization they built.

They. The leadership. Which included Signy.

“I need you to stand down, now,” she said to the bewildered soldiers standing behind the two Qunari. She hoped she sounded confident and authoritative. At least the shrill fear in her voice was gone. “This is a family matter between Recruit Adaar and his sibling. Ashaban, Kaaras, would you mind moving? You’re blocking the road.”

The soldiers dispersed. The two Qunari looked at her in surprise, then Kaaras put an arm around Ashaban’s shoulders and guided them gently away.


	7. Where Are the Lights in the Shadow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana has a moment of weakness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [GravityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex). Thank you, good sir!

Revered Mother Hertha, Signy suspected, was not ready for the resumption of weekly services after the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. How could she be? No doubt the cleric was doing her best, but she’d been catapulted into prominence and was now dealing with an assembly of people more diverse in station and origin than had been seen in ages, all of them grieving and scared.

Signy also suspected she was projecting her own emotions onto the revered mother.

In any case, the revered mother -- who had to be at least five years younger than Signy -- was putting up a brave front. She had been considered promising but too young for real power, according to Leliana, and appointed as Haven’s revered mother to put her somewhere prominent but without too much responsibility. After all, the clerics at the Temple of Sacred Ashes would be just up the mountain.

Only now all those clerics were dead, and with the few members of the Chantry more senior than her who hadn’t already left bickering over precedence, Hertha was the only one anyone could agree on to lead what was effectively the memorial service for the Divine and the hundreds of people who had died with her. There had been a hasty service when the remains that could be gathered were burned, all at once, but it had been more formality than remembrance. More was needed, for the sake of both propriety and some scrap of solace.

All in all, Revered Mother Hertha was vastly out of her depth. And yet, she was throwing her lot in with the Inquisition. She and Signy had that in common.

They also had in common that they had been listening to Josephine fret about the service for at least half an hour. At this rate, she’d still be discussing how to conduct themselves when the doors of the Chantry opened at midday.

Signy was seated on the Leliana’s left on the front pew, with the spymaster, the young revered mother, and Cassandra Pentaghast between her and Cullen.

“Lady Josephine,” the revered mother said. “I think I should discuss the contents of the sermon. Might we turn to that?”

“Of course,” said Josephine, looking flustered. Signy wondered if retreating into protocol was her way of dealing with the chaos around them. Maybe the ambassador hid in the minutiae of such things the way Signy hid in books. Unfortunately, she’d found herself unable to concentrate on the books she’d retrieved from Kaaras, all of which she’d read at least twice over. For the last couple of days she had been filling her time with a pair of romance novels found in a drawer in her cabin. They featured an Avvar tribesman, an Orlesian noblewoman, and entirely too much swooning. Seating arrangements could well be Josephine’s equivalent -- something frivolous to keep her from thinking too hard about what had happened.

Josephine seated herself on the pew to Signy’s left, and the revered mother stood.

“Firstly, I have come to the decision that I will not refer to the Herald as such, though I think it important to remind the people of the blessings that remain to us. I will be emphasizing Divine Justinia’s wisdom in preparing us to face this crisis without her, as well.”

Next to Signy, Leliana’s breath hitched. When Signy stole a glance at her out of the corner of her eye, the other woman  looked perfectly composed. When Signy lifted her hand to stifle a yawn, though, it bumped into a fist so tense she wouldn’t have been surprised to see blood on Leliana’s hand when she uncurled it.

“Sorry,” Signy said, when the revered mother gave her a  _ look _ for the yawn. Apparently they learned that early in their careers. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Mistress Signy, it is vital that we maintain a dignified --” Montilyet began, but Mother Hertha interrupted her by clearing her throat. The ambassador subsided.  


They finished the meeting soon after, as Lady Josephine didn’t try to reclaim the floor when the revered mother was finished. Signy suspected she might even have time for a nap before the service.

* * *

Leliana’s quarters were a large cabin shared with Josephine, not far from Signy’s own smaller, but conspicuously less crowded, temporary home. When Signy stopped by after a restless attempt at sleep to check on her, the door was open a crack. Leliana’s voice drifted out from inside, reciting from the Chant.

“‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just,” the spymaster quoted. The slight chanting quality that Chantry members usually gave the holy text was absent from her voice. “‘Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.’”

Signy slid the door open just a little further and peeked in. Leliana knelt, hands clasped in prayer, not far from the door.

“Is that what You want from us?” Leliana said. “Blood? To die so that Your will is done? Is death Your only blessing?” Signy bit her lip at the raw emotion in the other woman’s quiet voice.

“You might as well come in,” Leliana said, causing Signy to jump. She hadn’t thought the other woman had known she was there. Signy stepped in, closing the door behind her.

Leliana’s eyes raked over Signy from her boots to her face. The woman looked exhausted, though she hadn’t let any of that show at council meetings.

“They’re saying you speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s His game?”

“Maker, Leliana,” Signy said, then realized that taking His name in vain might not be the best idea right now. She plowed on anyway. “I don’t speak for anyone but myself. I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t."

Leliana took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Was she having to keep herself from crying?

“Then we can only guess at what  _ He _ wants,” she said.

“Leliana…”

“The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths. Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!” Her voice grew quieter as she spoke, but Signy didn’t mistake that for calmness. This was a woman with a steel grip on her emotions, but there was something inside her that was too big for her to hold in.

“The Maker didn’t kill her,” Signy said, lamely. “Someone murdered her. Someone made the choice to do that.”

“If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?”

Signy didn’t have a reply.

Leliana covered her face with her hands, just for a moment. When she removed them, her expression was schooled back to something casual.

“Forgive me. We should get to work.” It took Signy a moment to realize she was referring to the Chantry service.

“Leliana, I -- That is, I’m sorry that --” She had to say  _ something. _

“It was a moment of weakness,” said Leliana. “It won’t happen again.” She gave Signy a small smile that, under any other circumstances, would have fooled her completely.


	8. Something Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brigid makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [GravityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex).

“As the chorus of spirits sings in the fifth chapter of Exultations:

_ ‘Whatsoever passes through the fire _

_ Is not lost, but made eternal; _

_ As air can never be broken nor crushed, _

_ The tempered soul is everlasting!’” _

The young revered mother paused, looking out over the crowd of people assembled at the steps of Haven’s chantry. Brigid, standing next to a brazier lightly scented with familiar chantry incense, bit her cheek. If this woman spouted some platitude about how they were all better off for what had happened…

“That does not mean that the fire is painless. That does not mean that nothing is lost. Our grief may temper us, but that does not make our pain any less, our grief any smaller. The Maker knows this. He will see us through, and we are not without blessings in this time of sorrow.”

It was all too much. The incense, usually a comforting scent, seemed to clog her nose and throat, and the revered mother’s voice felt shrill and grating. Ignoring the eyes that followed her, Brigid rushed away from the chantry as quickly as she could without running.

Out of the shadow of Haven’s tallest building, the sun blinded her for a moment, bringing tears to her eyes. She didn’t try to hold those back, or the next ones, which had nothing to do with the light. She kept walking, looking for someplace private, or at least out of the way. It occurred to her that she didn’t need to hide, that her grief was completely appropriate. She decided she still didn’t want it to be public.

The back of one of the nearby cabins stood only a few feet from the palisade that surrounded the village. Brigid made for the gap.

Someone was already there. A dwarven woman sat on a short stack of cordwood, drinking from a metal flask. Through her vision was blurry with tears Brigid made out very light blonde hair and pale skin.

“Sorry,” Brigid said, wiping her eyes. “I’ll…” She trailed off as she got a look at the dwarf through clearer eyes. Her face was severely scarred, delicate features hidden under a web of old wounds that cosmetics did nothing to hide. Brigid tore her gaze away. “Sorry.”

“Everyone stares the first time,” the dwarf said with a snort. “You done?”

“Yes,” Brigid said. She wanted very much to go back to her pavillion and her camp bed and her thick woolen blankets and hide from the world. But if she did that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get up again, so instead she sat down on a stack of wood a little lower than the dwarf’s. “I don’t suppose you feel like sharing that flask?” She met the dwarf’s eyes again and managed not to let her gaze drift to the scars.

The dwarf shrugged and handed it over.

“Not too much, okay?” she said. “Who are you?” She was looking Brigid, and her simple but expertly tailored dress, up and down.

“Lady Brigid Trevelyan,” Brigid said. “Of the Ostwick Trevelyans.”

“Myka,” the dwarf said, and stuck out a hand.

“A bow is usually appropriate,” Brigid said, not a little bitterly.

“I did give you my flask, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Lady Trevelyan is my mother. I’m just Lady Brigid. So, Myka, what are you doing here?” Brigid said, taking a sip from the flask. It was a small sip, which turned out to be a very good decision

“I was supposed to be seeing what you lot come up with about these mages and templars, but that’s not looking too promising,” the dwarf said.

“I meant, what are you doing behind this building?”

“In that case, I’m having a much needed drink.”

“You could go to the service. Prayer is healthier than turning to drink,” Brigid said. Then she took another sip.

Myka snorted “Then what are  _ you _ doing here? Besides, this isn’t about the general tragedy of the situation. It’s about my own complete and utter stupidity.”

“Excuse me?” Brigid said.

Myka made a vague gesture in the direction of the chantry. “I signed up. With the Inquisition. I’m probably going to get killed.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because someone needs to. Preferably several someones,” Myka said with a sigh. “Maybe it’s to get away from the fucking family. Or to do something good for once. Probably both, and more.” It occurred to Brigid that the dwarf was probably a little tipsy. She didn’t look particularly drunk, but she was talking more candidly about her reasons than a sober person would have, not to mention cursing about her family.

“You don’t get along with your family?” Brigid said.

Myka shrugged. “Do you get along with yours?”

Brigid turned the flask in her hands, reflecting. She’d been close with Evelyn, despite years of their relationship having been conducted mainly through letters. She loved her mother dearly, but she never knew how to talk to her. Mother looked at a problem and immediately set out to solve it. It was hard to get her to just listen. Aunt Elodie wasn’t technically family, but she felt like it. As for Brigid’s brothers, they had been distant presences in her life, living back in Ostwick while she lived with mother and Elodie at Gwerarbor, the country estate. Evelyn’s twin, Austell, had never been much for letter writing, and Carrow was younger than Brigid by enough that he wasn’t terribly interested in correspondence. And Father… When she had been young, before everything changed, she thought he had been more involved than most fathers of his rank, though it was hard to say. He'd helped her with her arithmetic lessons, and she'd loved the look on his face when she solved a problem before he could finish an explanation.

She wasn't sure how much he suspected about why she'd left with Mother and Elodie. She did know Mother had told him he wasn't owed an explanation for a woman wanting to keep at least one of her children close.

Her father had probably been the last one to really expect something of her. Even Evelyn had brought her along to the Conclave as a sort of exalted secretary and out of, well, pity. She’d tried not to show it, and Brigid had ignored it when it peeked through her sister’s elegant front, but Evelyn had pitied Brigid. And why wouldn’t she? Brigid had barely left the grounds of Gwerarbor in nearly thirteen years. Evelyn had seen the world, from the Marches to Val Royeaux. Brigid had seen a great many grape harvests and learned more about keeping the accounts of a wine-producing estate by the age of twenty than some life-long bookkeepers.

Thinking about that… it should have made her angry. Everything else seemed to, these days. But she just felt hollowed out.

The sound of Myka snapping her fingers pulled Brigid back to the present. “Hey, you with me?” she said, then held out her hand.

“Huh?”

“Flask, please.”

Brigid handed it over.

"So, you’re staying? Trying to do something good?" she said.

Myka took an implausibly long drink from her flask. When she spoke again, her voice was rough. "That’s what I said." Then she coughed, so at least she wasn't completely immune to her own demon drink.

This was her chance, Brigid realized -- probably her  _ only  _ chance -- to do something that mattered. If she wanted to do more with her life than keep accounts, this was where she had to take a risk. This was where she had to choose to do the illogical thing, the brave thing. She knew there was a risk to her family, to their reputation, but she found it difficult to really care in that moment. She’d lived quietly and unremarkably, for long enough. She’d lived for her family for long enough. It was time to do some good.


	9. Mail Packet: Letters Delivered From Haven to Ostwick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Signy and Brigid write to their families.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [GravityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex).

To Mera and Hanol of the Ostwick alienage:

This is Signy. I should have written to you sooner, but at first I was afraid of the remaining templars, and then I was too far for reliable delivery. I'm sorry.

I'm alive, and relatively safe. I followed my mentor to the Conclave, but avoided harm in the destruction of the Temple. I've become involved in the Inquisition. I don't know if word of it has reached you yet, but we are trying, on the orders of the late Divine Justinia, to seal the Breach in the sky that was created at the same time the Temple was destroyed.

You may hear more about me, specifically, over the coming weeks. I've gotten myself more deeply involved than I'd like. I'll do my best to keep any repercussions from affecting you.

I'm sorry,

Signy

* * *

To Ser Renard Martel,

It is my sad duty to inform you that your wife, my beloved sister Evelyn, is dead. The explosion of the Temple of Sacred Ashes took her life, and that of Her Holiness Divine Justinia and hundreds of others. I wish that I could tell you more of the manner of her death, but the circumstances have meant that little can be learned of her last hours.

My deepest sympathies to you and Leonie. Please tell her that her Aunt Brigid loves her very much and will pray for her mother.

Yours in shared grief,

Brigid Trevelyan

* * *

To Austell Trevelan,

It is my sad duty to inform you that our sister Evelyn was killed in the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, along with Divine Justinia. I’m so sorry. Losing a sister is hard enough. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your twin.

My love to you and Catriona,

Brigid Trevelyan

* * *

To Carrow Trevelyan,

I’m so sorry to tell you this, but our sister Evelyn was killed in the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, along with Divine Justinia. I know there’s nothing I can say that will soften this blow, but I hope you won’t hesitate to talk to Father and Austell. They say sharing your grief makes it easier.

Your sister,

Brigid Trevelyan

* * *

My Lord Father:

It is my sad duty to inform you that your daughter, my beloved sister Evelyn, is dead. She was killed in the destruction of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, along with Her Holiness Divine Justinia and hundreds of others.

I have remained in the area and am doing charitable work. I will return to Gwerarbor as soon as seems prudent.

I know we both loved Evelyn. I’m so sorry to have to give you this news.  Please know that she died working for peace and that, as always, she represented the best of House Trevelyan to all who encountered her.

Your obedient daughter,

Brigid Trevelyan

* * *

Mother,

I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Evelyn is dead. She died in the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes, killing not only Evelyn, but Divine Justinia and hundreds of others. No one really knows yet who was responsible, though there are plenty of theories. The size of the explosion and the Breach it left in the sky say "mage" to me, but why would they sacrifice so many of their own?

I suppose it doesn't matter. Evelyn is gone and, as much as I beg the Maker in my heart to bring her back, we won't see her again until we go to His side ourselves.

I don't know what else to say. I love you, and I miss you, and I want you to hold me and tell me it will be alright. I want to do the same for you.

At the same time, I'm not ready to come home quite yet. I’m occupying myself with charitable work and keeping my head down. I'll write again soon.

Your loving daughter,

Brigid

* * *

Dear Aunt Elodie,

I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Evelyn is dead. She was killed in the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes, as were the Divine and hundreds of others. I assume you'll read the letter I sent Mother. I assume she’ll read this one too, and that it won’t go through her secretary’s hands.

I've started helping the Chantry scribes, taking dictation from the unlettered to let their families know they're alive via the local chantries. Also less personal letters to the families of those we could confirm as dead and whose origins we know -- I'm glad that at least Mother and Father didn't have to get one of those. Let Father think that's why I'm staying. I'll be more honest with you and Mother, though. I don’t intend to just write letters. I’m joining the Inquisition.

I assume you've heard about it. It was created on the Divine's orders, may she walk in the Maker's light. All sorts of people are joining. I've seen the wildest variety of people in the last week. There is, my hand to the Maker, a Qunari recruit, and I think I saw a Dalish elf the other day. I spent an hour in the company of a dwarf who I later learned was a former criminal (don't worry, I'll be avoiding her in the future). And one of their leaders is a mage. A mage, doing the Maker's work alongside a Seeker and a Templar Knight-Commander! It's hard to believe.

The point is, I’ll be staying, at least for a while. You know how confining I find Gwerarbor. It may be one of the finest wine regions in the Free Marches, but there's only so much time you can spend on its accounts or riding its borders. I could do some good here, despite my particularities. Not that I would be airing anything unsavory, of course. Family business is family business.

Take care of Mother as best you can. I know you don't need to be told that, but I need to say it.

Love,

Brigid


	10. The Particular Interests of Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Signy and Cullen have their first real conversation. Afterward, she has a much needed drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [GravityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex).

“I just had to stop children from throwing rocks at a Tranquil,” Signy said, without greeting or preface. She’d found Commander Cullen in the office he was sharing with Lady Montilyet, pouring over what looked like supply reports. The ambassador wasn’t present.

At her words, the templar set his quill down and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He looked exhausted.

“Damnation,” he said. “Can people not control their children? Someone should speak to the village elders. I don’t suppose you could--”

That was not the issue Signy had been trying to bring up. She had come to him, specifically, for a reason.

“Why are there Tranquil here, Commander?” Signy said, keeping her voice very calm. She didn’t let anger show through, or the sharp prick of fear that talking about Tranquil brought on.

“I understand a half-dozen of them arrived with Minaeve,” the commander said, his tone sliding into the same cold calm as hers.

“Minaeve? But…” The younger woman had mentioned that she’d been in the Circle.

“Yes?” said the commander.

“I assumed they had come with you,” Signy said.

“Ah.”

“Because you’re a templar,” she added. They might as well get this over with, now that she had brought it so close to the surface.

“I see. I take it you have misgivings about that?” he said. He was looking her straight in the eye. His eyes were the color of whisky. After a moment, Signy looked away.

“Can you blame me?” she asked. “You are what you are.”

“No, I suppose not. But I am no longer a member of the Templar Order, Mistress Signy. I formally renounced my place when I left Kirkwall to join the Inquisition.” he said. 

Signy could believe that, and even that he was trying to put templar attitudes behind him, but that didn’t mean her assumption hadn’t been logical.

“You may have been able to force your way into the Inquisition’s leadership based on the Mark alone,” he continued, “but I earned this place, and I gave up everything to take it.” For the first time, emotion entered his voice, and to her surprise it wasn’t all anger. There was a determination there, a steel resolve. “I appreciate that you have lost a great deal, but what have you willingly sacrificed?” he said, more quietly.

Signy stood for a few seconds, looking down at his reports. Then she met his eyes once more. There was a look there that was at once defiant, daring her to push further, and vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I had assumed that… well, I had assumed.”

After a moment, he nodded to her: an acknowledgment. Signy nodded back, then turned to go.

She emerged into the nave, righteous anger replaced with far too many doubts, to find Varric Tethras lounging on one of the pews near the front of the chantry. If he’d been praying, it didn’t look like it.

“I only heard a little of that,” he said, “but I’m guessing you could use a drink.”

 

Haven’s tavern was still almost as much a cabin as anything else. The bed had been removed, but the bar was a couple of tables and a large crate, and the bottles of finer spirits were arranged in a wardrobe with the doors removed.

The place was empty of customers, so Signy heard it when the woman behind the bar gasped.

“Oh, Maker, you’re her,” the bartender said breathily, rushing out from behind the bar to stand in front of Signy. She actually curtsied. “You’re the Herald of Andraste. And you were sent to show us we were wrong to be afraid of the mages. I have always respected magic! I think the Maker blessed your rebellion, and…” She paused for breath, finally, and seemed to collect herself. 

“I mean, I’m Flissa. Can I get you a drink?”

“Um…”

“It’s fine, Flissa,” Varric said, pulling out a coin purse. “She won’t do anything scary.”

“If you wanted to close the Breach, I wouldn’t mind,” Flissa said, smiling at Signy timidly.

“I’ll do everything I can, miss,” Signy said, hoping she didn’t look too taken aback. “Could I have some water?”

Flissa gave her a confused look.

“She’ll have cider and I’ll have a beer,” Varric said. Then, to Signy, “You’ve been drinking water all this time? How are you not dying in the healers’ tent or stuck on a privy all day?” 

”I just thought they’d have some boiled water in a tavern. The mercenaries I was traveling with always kept some around.”

“I think you’ve misunderstood the purpose of taverns.”

“Quite possibly.”

Varric put a few coins on the ‘bar.’ Signy realized she should be paying for her own drink, but the bit of coin she’d accumulated after leaving Ostwick had been lost sometime in the last few days. She’d need to arrange for a salary, wouldn’t she? That was new.

Flissa brought them their drinks and they took seats at a table in the corner. Signy took a cautious sip of cider. It didn’t taste too much like it was on fire, so she kept going.

“So, now that Cullen and Cassandra aren’t around, are you holding up alright?” Varric said. “I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

Signy took another slow pull from her cider. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hide behind it forever.

“I did,” she said. “There was a break in there, though admittedly I was asleep for most of it.” She frowned. “Actually, do you have the date? I’ve lost track.”

“It’s the twenty-ninth of Wintermarch.”

“I slept through my birthday,” she said, then winced. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly sensitive of me.” It was easier to focus on little things, though, rather than let herself comprehend the scale of death the Breach had wrought. “I'm not sure I believe that any of this is really happening.”

“Yeah, it can feel like that at first. Just… don’t keep it to yourself when it hits you.”

“What about you?” Signy asked. “Are you all right?”

Varric swirled his drink a bit before answering. “A lot of good men and women didn't make it out of that mess. For days, we were staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ’Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can't believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there's a damn good punchline coming.”

“I should be feeling more,” Signy said, looking down at her cup to avoid his eyes. She wasn’t even sure why she was saying this to a man she’d barely met, but she felt like she needed to say it to someone. Varric would have to do. At least he was easy to talk to.

“Hundreds of people were in that building, and all I can think about, when I can think about it at all, is that Lydia might be dead.”

“Lydia?”

“My mentor in the Circle.”

“And how long did you know her?”

“... twenty-three years.”

“Longer than you spent with your parents.”

“Yes.” Signy didn’t correct him on the plural. Then, because anything was better than this topic, she said, “I swear I’ve heard your name before.”

“Hopefully in a flattering context.”

“I honestly can’t remember.”

“Have you read  _ The Tale of the Champion? _ ”

“No. I tried to get the library to order it, but Senior Enchanter Archibald had a hang-up about waiting until he could get more than one perspective before he ordered anything on a subject. Why do you -- ? Wait. Wait. That’s where I know you from! You’re a writer!”

“Yes, though I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that strong a reaction from someone who hasn’t actually read my stuff.”

“I’m trying to remember what else you’ve done. Oh! There was this one about Nevarran succession conflicts during the Blessed Age, but I can’t remember the title…”

“Can’t take credit for that one. I mostly do fiction, actually. The Tale of the Champion was my first published non-fiction.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I haven’t really read much fiction.”

“Did the librarian have a hang-up about that too?”

“That was more of the templars’ fixation. Though I honestly wasn’t that interested to begin with.”

“Wait, the templars were involved in the library?”

Signy forgot, sometimes, how alien the Circle was to people who had never lived in one.

“Every volume in the Circle library was on a list of books approved by the Templar Order. Officially, it was because they didn’t want anything heretical getting in, but there were other patterns. No fiction set in this age. No recent travel books, either. They didn’t want us to know what was out there, or even to speculate on it.”

“I… damn.”

“Precisely.” Signy downed the rest of her drink in a single go.


	11. The Best Tool for the Work at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Signy takes steps to avoid being a liability in combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [GravityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex).

Signy shot up, waking with her heart racing and a deep pit of fear in her gut. She'd been running from _something,_ toward… toward… she couldn't remember. It was probably just the natural fading of dreams, but it reminded her of the hole in her memory. Viscerally so, in fact. Usually she was able to push thoughts of that away, but tonight… tonight, her heart didn't slow down and the terror and helplessness didn't fade.

Burrowing back into her woolen blankets, Signy tried to do one of her breathing exercises. She found them calming even though they failed to aid her casting as they should have. It took several minutes, but her body calmed down. Sleep remained elusive, though, and she found herself going over the dreams she could remember from the last week.

Most of them hadn't been about the void in her memory. She wasn't sure if that made sense or not. Was it natural that her sleeping mind avoided that gap? Or would most people's wanderings in the Fade bring them back to what scraps they had? She didn't know. Whatever the second of those romance novels with the Avvar seemed to imply, memory loss wasn't a common thing. She hadn't spent much time in the medical section of the Circle library, but there had been a certain book on Tevinter history that had alluded to the difficulty of removing memories without blood magic. It had been a disturbing volume, and she had only seen it once. She suspected the templars had found it.

In any case, her dreams hadn't focused on those lost memories, not even her nightmares. Instead, she dreamed often of the charge to the Breach.

She'd thought charging was the right decision, and said as much to Seeker Pentaghast. It didn't make sense to use a tactic that relied on misdirection if there was no commander to be distracted. Ultimately, Pentaghast had agreed and convinced Leliana, and Signy had gotten her way, Maker help her. She'd been completely unprepared for what followed.

It had been shades, mostly: darkness cloaked in rags that smelled of death that seemed to sap the energy from her limbs by their very proximity. Those had been bad enough. Then had come the pride demon. She’d seen one once before, during her Harrowing, and had been determined never to do so again. If anything, it had been more frightening outside of the Fade, contrasted with the solid reality of the shattered temple. And throughout, she'd been so damned useless.

She hadn't been able to fight back, not without risking hurting herself or her companions in a burst of uncontrolled magic. She hadn't even been able to defend herself with a proper barrier. The spear she'd found and carried with her had been more for her own comfort than as an effective focus for her magic. She'd needed to feel like she _could_ do something, even if the only spell she'd cast, right after the bridge collapsed out from under her and Pentaghast, had been the one that revealed her as a mage. She'd have been more effective just trying to stab the demons. Well, maybe not. She had less training with arms than she did with battle magic, which was to say none. Of course, she'd never actually tried to train with a weapon.

 _I should do something about that,_ she thought. She tried to use that decision as something calming, but it was still some time before she could sleep.

* * *

On the next day, the last of Wintermarch and thus the day before the holiday of Wintersend, there was no sign of the deviation from the Inquisition’s nascent routine. More permanent housing was going up just outside the village palisade, and the carpenters were already sawing and hammering away.At the forge, the head blacksmith was shouting his subordinates out of their morning sluggishness. And the troops, as always, drilled.

When Signy arrived at the training grounds, she didn’t expect Commander Cullen to be there to supervise personally. He was, though, front and center.

"Keep that spear up!" he shouted as Signy approached. "If that man were your enemy, you would be dead."

There was not, in fact, a spear in any of the recruits' hands. They were armed mainly with long, straight poles, freshly cut from the look of them.

“Lieutenant, don’t hold back,” the commander said to a dark-skinned man with hair braided close to his scalp. "These recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

The man turned away from the recruits to salute Rutherford with a hand to his heart, then returned to his charges.

“Commander,” Signy said, "do you have a moment?"

"Of course," he said. If he was thinking of their contentious conversation yesterday, he showed no sign. "What do you need, Mistress Signy?"

"You saw me on the battlefield, during the charge to the Breach." Cullen didn't say anything, but his expression tightened. "I've been trying to work on my magical control in the days since, but if twenty-three years in the Circle couldn't teach me, I don't think I'll be able to solve the problem on my own. It would be… advisable… for me to learn to defend myself more conventionally."

"You're not worried about a weapon affecting your casting?" he said.

Signy snorted. "What casting is that? In fact, I could probably use some armor in addition to one of those spears."

"A sword, not a spear," Cullen said. "If you're on a battlefield again, it won't be in a spearman formation. As for armor, you'll want something relatively light, since you've not trained for it. In fact, some training for strength and endurance would be a good idea."

"Agreed," Signy said. It felt odd to be agreeing so honestly with a templar.

He seemed hesitant to say what he was thinking after that, and when he did speak, his words surprised her: "You might also speak to Solas regarding your magical training.”

"You want me to talk to an apostate about magic? Why?" He didn’t look happy about it.

"Apostates have different ways of doing things, in my experience. I know the Circle discourages alternate methods, even when their own methods of instruction fail. But these are hardly the same circumstances. There’s no need to focus on maintaining a standard of--" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture."

Signy found amusement at his enthusiasm outweighing her general caution about him. "No, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it," she said. She didn't realize until after she spoke that she was smiling at him.

He chuckled. “Another time, perhaps. I, ah… I have a lot of work ahead today. I’ll find someone suited to teaching you swordplay by tomorrow, Mistress Signy.”

As Signy left, she found herself surprised not only by how well the conversation had gone, but the slight warmth that making him laugh kindled in her chest.

* * *

She found Solas easily enough. Word of an elven apostate had spread quickly, and made people in Haven nervous enough that they kept close tabs on him. He’d taken up residence in a small cabin near the tavern, and had it to himself. No one had explicitly said why, but it wasn’t hard to guess. She knocked on the door, and after a moment it opened.

Now that she was here, opening by asking for magic instruction seemed like a bad idea.

“I never properly thanked you for saving my skin so many times, back when we patched the Breach,” she said instead

“Your thanks is appreciated,” Solas said. A woman emerged from the tavern and stared at them for a few seconds before hurriedly moving on. “Are you not afraid to be seen with an elven apostate?”

Signy shrugged “I’m an apostate now, too,” she said. It was a frightening thought, one she’d had to repeat to herself over and over after the Circle fell until it stopped feeling like a punch in the gut.

“And also the Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero come to save us all,” Solas said, but he also stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.

Signy had to suppress a despairing laugh. “I've no interest in being a hero. I just want to find a way to seal this Breach.”

“Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant,” Solas said.

The inside of the cabin was neatly organized, from the sketchbook and sticks of charcoal neatly arranged on the main table to the small stack of books by the bed. She’d have to investigate those later. The fire was burning low, and Solas revived it with a wave of his hand.

“I've journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” he said, addressing the fire as much as Signy. “I've watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” When he stood and turned to Signy, he was very definitely, and very intensely, addressing her. “Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be.”

Signy looked away, fixing her eyes on the staff leaning against the wall behind him rather than his face. She was not going to address the idea of herself as a hero, either with him or internally.

“What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?” 

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history,” Solas said. “Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“That’s extraordinary,” Signy said, taking a seat in one of the two padded chairs in the cabin -- whoever had lived here before had been well off by the village’s standards, it seemed.The Fade itself might not appeal to her in the least, but the idea of recovering the memories of times past did. She’d never heard of such a thing, but just the idea made her heart beat faster. How many riddles of history could be solved that way?

“Thank you. It's not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning,” Solas said, taking the other chair. “But the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.”

“The things you must have seen…”

Solas smiled almost indulgently. “The best are the battlefields. Spirits press so tightly on the veil that you can slip across with a thought. I dreamt at Ostagar, for example. I witnessed the brutality of the darkspawn and the valor of the Ferelden warriors. I saw Natia Brosca and her companion, Alistair, light the signal fire… and Loghain’s infamous betrayal of Cailan’s forces.”

“I’ve read a bit about the Fifth Blight, but the accounts are highly biased,” SIgny said. “Everyone has an argument about whether or not it was really a full Blight, and every historian seems to build their narrative based on siding with or against the Grey Warden accounts. I’d love to hear a more holistic perspective.”

“That’s just it. In the Fade I see reflections created by spirits who react to the emotions of the warriors.One moment, I see heroic Wardens lighting the fire and a power-mad villain sneering as he lets King Cailan fall. The next, I see an army overwhelmed and a veteran commander refusing to let more soldiers die in a lost cause.”

Signy wilted a bit. “So you can’t actually see what of it is real?”

“That’s just it. It is the Fade. It is all real.”

Well. That was one way to say you had different research priorities.

“I should probably mention that I didn’t come to discuss theory. I came to ask you for your help. As you may have noticed, I’m not exactly competent with the actual practice of magic. If I’m going to be facing off against demons, that needs to change.”

“Why come to me?” Solas asked. “You are more well acquainted with the recent Qunari recruit. For that matter, there are a half-dozen Circle mages already among the Inquisition’s ranks.”

“Kaaras isn’t a mage. He --” Signy paused as a several offhand comments from the Valo-Kas and moments with Kaaras that had seemed just slightly off fell into place. “He’s a mage?

“I assumed you were aware.”

“Well. Damn.” She shook her head, half in disbelief, half to clear it. Apparently the Valo-Kas hadn’t trusted her as much as she’d thought. “In any case, Commander Cullen suggested that an apostate might have a different way of looking at things, something that might work better for me.. I thought it was a good point. The Circle’s methods haven’t worked so far.”

“The commander? Interesting.”

“It surprised me, too. Shockingly broad-minded for a templar.”

“So it would seem.”

“In any case, I can go to Kaaras if you’d prefer, but I’ve seen you in combat and I was impressed, especially with your barriers. That seems like it will be particularly important when it comes to demons.”

“On the contrary, I would be pleased to teach you. I will need to assess your current skills more carefully before we begin, however.” He paused, looking in what Signy knew without having to look outside was the direction of the Breach.

“I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed,” he said.

“You hadn’t decided?”

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion,” Solas said, a hint of disdain in his voice. “Seeker Cassandra had been accommodating to the non-Circle mages who have joined so far, but you understand my caution.”

“Cassandra isn’t the only one in charge,” Signy said, though she would have been lying if she claimed not to have her own doubts. “I’m an apostate leading those ‘Chantry’ forces. And I’m not going to let the fact that you came here to help, and _did_ help, be used against you. Not if I can help it.”

Solas turned away from the fire again to look her in the eye.”Do you truly believe you could stop the others, if they decided to take a more conventional route?” He seemed genuinely curious, not defensive as she would have expected.

Signy shrugged, but she didn’t look away. “I don’t know. But I’d do everything I could.”

Solas said nothing for a moment, considering her. Then he looked back to the fire. “Thank you. I appreciate the thought. For now, let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

“‘Or the templars?’ You’d work with them?”

“If necessary. In such dire circumstances, one must be flexible enough to use the best tool for the work at hand. But come, we should begin immediately if you are serious about restarting your training. I know a suitable spot in the woods that shouldn’t be more than ankle deep in mud.”

Well, at least he knew better than to ask her to cast in such a small space, and it wasn’t like Signy had other plans. She followed him out into the cold.


	12. Under the Maker's Gaze They Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Signy has realizes she has some thinking to do about what being the Herald means, even if she doesn't believe it herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [GravityComplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GravityComplex/pseuds/GravityComplex).

In Ostwick, Wintersend had truly come at, or at the very least toward, the end of winter. Signy remembered Wintersend from her early childhood as a riot of color. The vhenadahl would be draped in brightly colored streamers, the market stalls freshly painted for the new year, and the elves dressed in their embroidered holiday best. The last year Signy had lived in her mother’s home, she’d snuck out of the alienage to watch the pageant put on by one or another of the guilds in the nearest human neighborhood. The players acting out scenes from the life of Andraste had been the most glorious thing she had ever seen. Signy still remembered the woman how had played the prophet as being dressed in robes of gold. She knew that it had likely been satin with some metal sequins, but she remembered through the eyes of a child who had never seen fabric _shine_ before.

When she’d finally come back to the alienage, her mother and step-father had been in a panic. Signy had gotten the only really thorough birching her mother, Mera, had ever given her for wandering into the human neighborhoods. When she’d demanded to know why her mother hadn’t come looking for her if she was so worried, Mera had burst into tears. Her step-father had been the one to haltingly explain that the human parts of the city were more dangerous for a grown-up elf than for a human child. It was the first time she’d been truly aware of the difference between herself and the rest of her family. So Signy’s first memories of Wintersend were of color and wonder, and a deep loneliness she’d never quite left behind.

In Haven, Wintersend was definitely not the beginning of spring. It wasn’t snowing again, thank the Maker, but the muddy ground had frozen solid and everyone who didn’t have crampons on their shoes was having to half-skate to get around the village. Still, some attempt at festivity was evident. There was some attempt at a festival market going on, and the village children at least seemed to be enjoying the performance of a newly arrived minstrel. Signy’s breakfast had even included a pair of festively painted hard-boiled eggs.

In the last few days, Signy had been provided with both crampons and boots that fit. Someone was supposed to come by that afternoon to get her measurements for clothes more ‘appropriate to her station,’ according to Josephine. When Signy had asked what that meant, Josephine had talked about fabric and quality, rather than a specific type of garment. It had been silly to expect otherwise, but Signy was so used to thinking of anything but mages’ robes as a transgression that it had somehow come as a surprise that there wasn’t some uniform for her position. For the first time in her life, she’d be choosing her clothes, and not off of someone’s clothesline after fleeing the Circle. That had her in a good mood as she carefully made her way up the hill to the chantry. There was the Wintersend service, which would mercifully be briefer than the most recent Sunday one, and then, she’d been informed by one of Cullen’s lieutenants, she was to meet her trainer in the basement of the building for sword practice. Hopefully she wouldn’t smell too much of sweat when she was measured for those new clothes.

Signy sat through the Wintersend service in silence, mouthing along with the required responses. She couldn’t bring herself to say them aloud as she had once done despite her lack of belief.

Mercifully, Mother Hertha had forgone the customary pageant. The usual round of hymns was shortened, though not canceled, as well. The choir was missing several members.

After the service, Signy watched the door to the basement carefully from an alcove off the nave. No one went down. So, no sword trainer yet. People bowed to her as they passed her, some asking for her blessing. Signy smiled and nodded and occasionally asked Andraste’s blessing for someone. Andraste’s, not Signy’s. A little boy with a missing tooth proudly brought her an early crocus he’d found that morning while his father talked about how it was surely a sign. Signy awkwardly thanked the child and told the father she certainly hoped so. Eventually, the chantry emptied out.

“Mistress Signy?” said a voice behind her. “Sorry to be late, didn’t want to disturb the humans at their prayers.”

Signy turned to find herself face-to-face with an elf with two wooden practice swords under one arm. Well, face-to-forehead. Signy was a tall human woman, and the elf was average height for her race. That put her tattoos, branching lines of green that spread across her olive-skinned forehead and cheekbones, front and center. Signy had seen engravings of tattoos like those. She knew she was looking at a Dalish elf.

“Um…”

The elf sighed, looking up at Signy with one perfectly manicured brow raised.

“Sorry,” Signy managed. “Yes, I’m Signy. Please excuse my shock. I’ve, uh, never met a Dalish elf before.”

“Afraid I’ll drink your blood, Mistress Signy?”

SIgny snorted. “Of course not. Annalise Tayden’s refutation of that idea in _Myth and Truth Among the Heathen Peoples_ was conclusive, in my opinion.”

“You’re telling me you believe my people aren’t monsters based on a book?” Her voice was less accented that Signy would have expected. There was a slight sing-song rhythm to her words, but she sounded much like an eastern Marcher.

“Several books. Tayden was just the best of them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Please don’t be too offended,” Signy said, finally realizing why the elf was giving her such a carefully neutral look. “Most of my beliefs are based on books. Not much opportunity for learning in the field when you’re locked up in a Circle.”

The elf sighed and pushed a lock of black hair out of her eyes. “Right. Well, I’m Eyara Lavellan. I’ll be teaching you not to stab yourself with a longsword.” She gestured to the door to the basement. “Shall we?”

* * *

Signy emerged from the chantry several hours later, thoroughly soaked in sweat. She was definitely going to need a bath, and she was looking forward to it with a dread similar to, if not so intense as, that with which she had looked forward to her Harrowing. Thoughts of her Harrowing brought thoughts of Lydia, and a fresh burst of fear for her. Signy bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression neutral. It occurred to her that she didn’t need to practice keeping her face still as she had when templars watched her every move. Then again, the Inquisition was bound to get involved in politics, and she might be forced to participate in some way. Best to maintain the habit.

Someone had apparently anticipated her need for a bath. There were a washbasin and scrub brush by the hearth in her cabin when she got back, as well as a chunk of soap. She started a fire in the hearth and warmed the water. She would have loved to soak in a hot tub, but this was luxury compared to the Circle. There, anyone over the age of twelve was expected to warm their tub magically. After a single explosive incident, that had been out of the question for her. Soon after, the tailor, Pauletta, arrived.

Pauletta was a petite human woman, shorter than many elves, with greying brown hair held back in a severe braid and a bandage on her forehead. The first thing she said to Signy was, “So you’re the one who’s going to save us all. A bit scruffy looking, if you ask me.”

Signy shrugged. “Borrowed clothes will do that,” she said.

“I know. I sewed that tunic for Byrne last year. I see you’ve gotten mud on his trousers as well.”

“You knew him, then?” Signy said, then mentally kicked herself. Of course she had. In a village as small as Haven, everyone knew everyone.

“Yes. Didn’t care much for him, but he didn’t deserve to die up on that mountain.”

“None of them did,” Signy said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. I should have realized.”

“Nothing to be done for it now,” Pauletta said, absentmindedly brushing her fingers against her bandage. “Well, can’t have our savior dressed in clothes that don’t fit properly. Lady Montilyet’s paid for twice the clothes anyone in this village has, and half of that in everknit wool. I’ll have to send out for more of that.. For now, though, I can have a few things fixed up to fit you at least decently by tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it.”

"Glad to hear it," Pauletta said. She pulled a  leather measuring tape out of her pocket, along with a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil. "I don't honestly mean any disrespect, Lady Herald. I do believe, it's just… so many dead. I'd be a fool not to have questions." Her expression had changed, eyes going somewhere faraway, but she snapped back to a business-like look. "Hold out your arm for me?"

Signy did so. As the woman measured her arm, and then what seemed like a dozen other parts and angles of her body, Signy contemplated the little tailor. She clearly wasn't in awe of Signy, which was good. But she had called Signy "Herald" nonetheless. Were there others like her, who saw Signy as a person, not some mystical figure, but still expected her to save them from the Breach? She suspected some of Pauletta's rough manner was just how she treated everyone, but if anything that just strengthened the question in Signy's mind: What did it mean to be these people's Herald?

* * *

The next day, the ground wasn't frozen solid, which was nice, but it was squelchingly muddy, which wasn't. Nonetheless, Signy took the opportunity to walk out into the camp beyond Haven's palisade, looking for Pauletta. The tailor's home had been damaged by debris spewing from the Breach, and she was reportedly sharing a tent with several other displaced villagers. Signy had made a note to herself in a recently acquired journal to look into whether the Inquisition was helping with repairs to the village. If they could spare the resources, it would be both the right thing to do and good for the impression their organization gave. In the meantime, Signy didn’t see any reason the the other woman should have to deliver her clothes when Signy needed to build up her endurance.

Signy had barely left the village proper when she was nearly struck by a chunk of wood flying through the air from the direction of the training grounds. Closer inspection revealed it to be the rough-hewn head of a wooden dummy. 

“I think you need training dummies made of something sturdier,” Signy called, picking up the dummy’s head. Someone had drawn a moustache on it in charcoal. “Maybe iron.”

“My apologies, Herald.” The voice was Cassandra Pentaghast’s, and when Signy squinted into the morning sunlight, she made out the seeker’s tall form. She had barely paused in her assault on the dummy.

“So you think I’m the Herald of Andraste too, now?” she said, circling to Pentaghast’s side to avoid further debris and get a better look at the Seeker’s face. Was Pentaghast just performing for the few other people around them in calling Signy ‘Herald?’ Signy didn’t know yet whether the Seeker was the kind of person who would do that.

Pentaghast lowered her sword and turned to face Signy. 

“I think you were sent to help us,” she said. “I hope you were. But the Maker’s help takes many forms. Sometimes it’s difficult to discern who it truly benefits, or how.” She sighed, sheathing the sword. “There is more going on here than we can see, and no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot. But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

“We must deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm. Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can. After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be faced for what I have done, I face them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

That, Signy could agree with. This Inquisition could save the free mages, could do great good for all of Thedas. But the power it would take to do that… For the first time, it occurred to Signy that that kind of power couldn’t be exercised without shifting everything around it. The question wasn’t _whether_ there would be a price. There would be prices paid across Ferelden and even into Orlais. The question was whose price would be highest.

“Lady Herald, Lady Seeker?” The voice was that of a dwarf in a black tabard with a symbol Signy recognized as representing the constellation Visus. She hadn’t the slightest idea whose heraldry that might be, but it was certainly grandiose: the eye of the Maker and the sword of the archon who had shown Andraste mercy. On their own, they were the symbols of the templars and the Seekers of truth and…

Oh. Of course. Where had the Templars Order and the Seekers come from? This was the heraldry of the original Inquisition.

“What is it, recruit?” Pentaghast said.

“Message from Sister Leliana, my ladies. You’re needed in the Chantry. The sister says ‘I’ve had a message from near Redcliffe. We have somewhere to start.’”


End file.
